First day of class

Ya'll, I had some great lists today. And I couldn't choose, and wanted to use all of them. So I thought we'd do a multiple POV scenario about the first day of a college semester.

(via)

blurp

loo

phlegm

nap

pathetic

Cassie crossed her legs and pressed them tighter together. My gosh, she had to pee. But what do you do, stand up the first day of class and tell your professor that you need to use the bathroom? Geez, she’d sound like a five year old. Might as well pull out a pillow and lay down for a nap. Was this girl even a professor? She looked young, like maybe a GTA. Would she mind? Oh gosh. Dying. To. Pee.

Cassie cleared her throat and the guy in front of her turned to glance over his shoulder, as though he had never heard anyone clear their throat of phlegm before. She ignored him and focused on the professor, who was reading the blurp of a book. Blurp? Blurb? She couldn't even think because she had to freaking pee.

She drummed her fingers on the table and glanced at the clock. No way she could wait until this class was over. Could she just get up and go? She was in college now. And if the professor called her out and asked her where she was going she’d calmly reply that she was going to the loo. Yes, that sounded okay. Mature, confident. That’s who she was.

Oh who was she kidding, she was 18 and scared out of her mind, trying to act all grown up when in reality she had slept last night with her childhood teddy bear tucked under her chin.

She was, in fact, pathetic.

#

toaster

owl

rubbish

elevator

sign

Ami was so angry she thought for sure she’d burst into flames at any moment. Who knew you could get in trouble over a toaster?

First week away from home, and her RA had written her up because she and her roommate had and illegal appliance in their room. What rubbish. Her roommate Gwen had said that to the RA, in other not so elegant terms, to which his only response was to point to the sign by the elevator stating that all burners, hotplates, skillets, and toasters, were not allowed.

Ami sighed and scribbled on her open notebook. Why had she ever listed to Gwen?? It’s not like she was getting kicked out of school, but there was $100 fine her Dad would be furious over. And here she had let Gwen talk her into this! She had been so sure that if she could only get to college she’d turn into this confident woman, comfortable with her own decisions and her own tastes. But no. It hadn’t happened. She was a doe eyed idiot who had showed up to college like it was a seventh grade slumber party, complete two baskets of colorful school supplies and the comforter from her room with the owl and flowers on it.

And there was Gwen, her roommate with the J Crew bedding and a debit card and all the coolness Ami wanted. Gwen who had brought out the toaster and dismissed Ami’s rule abiding analness. And landed them in trouble on their second night in the dorms. Ami flipped a new page in her notebook. How much would new bedding cost? Maybe she didn’t need to be a grown up version of herself. She was a little girl, and she needed to grow up. Maybe she needed to get a part time job. Then she could pay the fine and Dad wouldn’t even need to know.

#

scissors

badge

chart

tranquility

pressure

The girl behind me just cleared her throat and I swear to the skies, it sounded just like my Grandma Macy when she does it. This class sucks. Intro level English Lit, and here I am, a senior and stuck in it, because it’s the only class that fit my schedule that gives me the credits I need. And I need to get the heck out of this place. Five years is long enough, and even if Dad wasn’t threatening to cut my funds, I’d probably still be dying to get out. Pressure builds in my head and I take my baseball cap off and run my fingers through my hair. A headache is going to dominate this class each and every time. It's practically a class on chick lit and I’m the only guy in here.

The GTA teaching this class mentions that part of this semester will be spent on Jane Austen books. Great gosh, I want to drive a pair of scissors into my eyes. The sweet tranquility of an easy semester has been blown to bits. The GTA is a chick and wears her black rimmed glasses like her entire outfit is a badge of honor. As if her pencil skirt is a testament to her brains. Granted, she looks pretty cute in the pencil skirt. It hugs her hips in a non slutty way, not like the girls that hang around the frat house on the weekends. Her eyes flicker to mine and the image of her with her hair down and in jeans and a t shirt flashes through my brain. And that image pretty much tops the charts.

Man, maybe this class won’t be so bad after all.

#

paint

treatise

stinkbug

conflagration

mutton

I nearly stumble walking through my syllabus, but make myself keep going. I hate this part. This is the third class I’ve taught since starting grad school, but the first day is always the worst. There’s no enthusiasm in this room, just a bunch of kids that look either pissed to be here or bored out of their minds. One girl is drawing in her notebook, focused on it so much you’d think she was drawing up a treatise for the UN. What’s got her so wound up? I continue on and mention Jane Austen and the guy in the back looks as though I’ve just told him to eat a stinkbug. Geez. He’s probably only of these frat boy morons who can’t even read a menu well enough to tell lamb from mutton, but thinks a literature class will get them an easy A.  

Lovely. I wish it were different, and that I could paint smiles on all their faces. Or at least tolerance. Geez, this class isn’t that bad. The guy in the back takes off his hat. Finally. I hate kids who wear hats in class. What do they think this is, a football game? He runs his hands through his wavy hair and a shudder goes through me. His grey t shirt stretches across his biceps. I stare at his arms and for a second, lose my train of thought. I stare at the class for three seconds before continuing. My stars, lust will sweep through me like a conflagration and burn me to shreds. My academic career over because I can’t keep her eyes off the hot slacker guy in class.

What the heck was wrong with me?

#

yo mama
glitter
flab 
dolphin
fish

She's cute.

Really cute.

How old are GTA’s anyway?

I lean forward and can just see the tips of her toes where they peek out from her heels. They’re painted pink. My buddy James says you can tell a lot about a woman by what color she paints her nails. I wonder what he’d say about pink. Then again, James also still tells yo mama jokes like they’re still funny, so what does he know?

Her pink toes are pretty adorable.

She continues to talk about Jane Austen, and leans back against the desk as she talks. Her eyes light up. She actually enjoys teaching this class I think. She seems casual. Confident. Not what you’d expect from a GTA. Normally the serious ones who love teaching are some sort of flabby future cat lady. Not her. And she’s definitely not like the sorority girls who’s idea of a nice outfit involves spandex and glitter.

I stare again at her pencil skirt and force my eyes up. Her shirt is green, a nice color with her dark hair, which is pulled into a ponytail, all sleek like a dolphin. My gosh, I just compared by hot GTA to a fish. No wonder I’m such a winner with the ladies.

Not.